Nowhere we've ever been before
Luke 24: 13-35
New Ark United Church of Christ, Newark, DE
April 26, 2020
On a scale of one to ten, how rested are you right now? Are you getting a good night’s sleep? Are your dreams more vivid? The other night I dreamed that I was at a summer church camp and an 18-wheeler truck pulled snug up to where I was sitting with a group of people. Then I was inside a cabin with the same group of people and we were all asleep but then the 18-wheeler squeezed its way into the cabin, down the hallway and into the room. Gee, I wonder what the 18-wheeler represents? Many people are reporting that their dreams have become more intense and involved, which of course is due to the stress we are all living under right now.
We’re spending more time in video chats and meetings, and for some of us they’re exhausting. They’re calling it Zoom fatigue. Usually we don’t focus on or talk to a whole room of people at once. It can be harder to pick up on non-verbal and social cues. Sometimes the sound or the screen is wonky. For some of us it’s something we’re used to at work and so even the social Zoom calls can remind us of work. For others, we’ve never Zoomed so much as we have in the past few weeks. We’re learning new skills, using our computers and phones in ways we’ve never had to before, and for some of us, our screen time, including TV and reading on our tablets, has no doubt increased. And if we watch or read the news, that speaks for itself when it comes to stress.
Studies on the psychological effects of stay-home measures for the past month are already showing results of physical and mental distress. Have any of you chalked up anything to ‘quarantine brain’? Are you having trouble finding motivation or keeping to a routine some days? Those of you who have no trouble sticking with your routine, be gentle with those who do. This time is incredibly hard as we travel together but apart from one another. We’ve arrived at that place on the map where none of us has ever been before. We’re grieving—we’re bargaining (maybe we can have church if we all wear masks), we’re in denial (let’s get people back to work), we’re angry (we’re being reckless), we’re depressed (we can’t see the way forward)—everything except we’re not ready to accept that the world we once knew will not return.
These two disciples traveling to Emmaus are beginning to realize that the same is true for them. They’ve been through an incredible ordeal and they’re grieving. Their teacher and friend was violently executed by the state, his body is missing, and their community is on shaky ground. Nothing feels safe or familiar so they leave Jerusalem, perhaps so they can talk on the way, make some sense out what has happened, at least be able to grieve together. Some commentaries mention that Emmaus was known for its hot springs. Perhaps they were seeking some healing after the trauma of the past few days? Where have we found sources of healing in these past few weeks?
Jesus comes right up alongside them but they don’t recognize him. How might Jesus be right beside us in these times but we don’t perceive him? I know I see it in you when you call each other, bring groceries and meals to those who need it, when you sew masks or sign up for a Facebook account just for the worship videos, when you mow the lawn at church, cook meals and distribute them at the Empowerment Center, when you sign onto Zoom in all your glory, when you struggle to sign onto Zoom. We recognize Jesus in healthcare workers and DoorDash drivers and grocery cashiers and truck drivers and plumbers and journalists and scientists and everyone who continues to work to keep us safe and informed.
But also in the pastor who breaks up a gathering of people sitting on benches on their church lawn, sitting closer than 6 feet and not wearing masks. Or in my colleague who helped a family FaceTime with their dying mother in hospice care. In all the chaplains in hospice and healthcare. In the teachers recording lessons and the teachers live-streaming their lessons; students at their computers, at the dining room table, high school and college seniors. The nurses standing strong in the face of armed protesters. Everyone who has to live apart from their families to keep them safe. In every one of us when we wake up in the morning and meet the day with what we have. In the sick. In the dying. In the grieving.
Jesus asks these disciples what has happened. If someone asked you not just how are you doing but how are you holding up, how would you answer? What has been on your heart and mind? What’s getting you through? Where do you place your hope? Are you able to make space for someone else to give an honest answer?
These disciples answer as honestly as they can. They speak to their hopes and their confusion. And it sounds like Jesus loses it. He seems rather callous to us, but then as now, there is much at stake. Life and death, liberation, the future of the human race and how we have been shaped by what we have learned.
Though he says the Messiah must suffer, there is nothing in general Jewish thought about this. Though suffering is inevitable, no one must suffer. Jesus’ death was not unique but pervasive throughout the Roman empire. We are not saved by violence but through the power of survival and what we do with our scars, how we cope with our trauma, how we learn to break the cycle of pain through understanding ourselves and each other.
Where we are now we say we’ve never been here before and yet humanity has been here time and time again. Everything about this pandemic shows us how amazing and courageous and strong humanity is and how broken our systems are. We’ve heard these messages before, these prophets of disruption and change and justice. We know what doesn’t work, the harm, the damage we’ve caused; we’ve witnessed how powerful and good and brave human beings can be, the positive change we can effect, how we persist through incredible upheaval.
When will we stop going to the store for bread whenever our convenience is threatened and instead ensure everyone has what they need?
When will we stop punishing the poor for being poor and instead teach the rich the meaning of gratitude?
When will we stop being a people who take and instead be a people who are willing to yield?
When will we stop monetizing the value and worth of everyone and everything, period?
When we will stop inflicting harm or using indifference as a means of concealing our weakness and instead have the courage to be vulnerable with each other?
When will we stop normalizing exhaustion and depletion and instead be satisfied with enough?
When will we stop limiting the power of the incarnation to one life, or a few extraordinary lives and instead realize that this power resides in all of us, unrecognized? When will we stop looking to be saved and instead save each other?
Lebanese poet Kahlil Gibran wrote:
“It is said that before entering the sea
a river trembles with fear.
“She looks back at the path she has traveled,
from the peaks of the mountains,
the long winding road crossing forests and villages.
“And in front of her,
she sees an ocean so vast,
that to enter
there seems nothing more than to disappear forever.
“But there is no other way.
The river cannot go back.
“Nobody can go back.
To go back is impossible in existence.
“The river needs to take the risk
of entering the ocean
because only then will fear disappear,
because that’s where the river will know
it’s not about disappearing into the ocean,
but of becoming the ocean.”
It’s our greatest fear, that we will disappear, we will be forgotten. It’s about becoming, not only for ourselves but for others’ liberation. One human race. Nowhere we’ve ever been before. And we will know the place for the first time.
Benediction – enfleshed.com
Though our hearts may be weary,
the Spirit sends us with hope.
There is an opportunity before us to live differently,
to practice radical love,
and to collectively turn from the systems that destroy us and our neighbors.
May the presence and power of Love abide with us,
and keep our hearts burning for justice and truth.
With peace, God sends us to make it so.
New Ark United Church of Christ, Newark, DE
April 26, 2020
 |
| The Road to Emmaus by Daniel Bonnell |
On a scale of one to ten, how rested are you right now? Are you getting a good night’s sleep? Are your dreams more vivid? The other night I dreamed that I was at a summer church camp and an 18-wheeler truck pulled snug up to where I was sitting with a group of people. Then I was inside a cabin with the same group of people and we were all asleep but then the 18-wheeler squeezed its way into the cabin, down the hallway and into the room. Gee, I wonder what the 18-wheeler represents? Many people are reporting that their dreams have become more intense and involved, which of course is due to the stress we are all living under right now.
We’re spending more time in video chats and meetings, and for some of us they’re exhausting. They’re calling it Zoom fatigue. Usually we don’t focus on or talk to a whole room of people at once. It can be harder to pick up on non-verbal and social cues. Sometimes the sound or the screen is wonky. For some of us it’s something we’re used to at work and so even the social Zoom calls can remind us of work. For others, we’ve never Zoomed so much as we have in the past few weeks. We’re learning new skills, using our computers and phones in ways we’ve never had to before, and for some of us, our screen time, including TV and reading on our tablets, has no doubt increased. And if we watch or read the news, that speaks for itself when it comes to stress.
 |
| Emmaus, Emmanuel Garibay, 2000 |
Studies on the psychological effects of stay-home measures for the past month are already showing results of physical and mental distress. Have any of you chalked up anything to ‘quarantine brain’? Are you having trouble finding motivation or keeping to a routine some days? Those of you who have no trouble sticking with your routine, be gentle with those who do. This time is incredibly hard as we travel together but apart from one another. We’ve arrived at that place on the map where none of us has ever been before. We’re grieving—we’re bargaining (maybe we can have church if we all wear masks), we’re in denial (let’s get people back to work), we’re angry (we’re being reckless), we’re depressed (we can’t see the way forward)—everything except we’re not ready to accept that the world we once knew will not return.
These two disciples traveling to Emmaus are beginning to realize that the same is true for them. They’ve been through an incredible ordeal and they’re grieving. Their teacher and friend was violently executed by the state, his body is missing, and their community is on shaky ground. Nothing feels safe or familiar so they leave Jerusalem, perhaps so they can talk on the way, make some sense out what has happened, at least be able to grieve together. Some commentaries mention that Emmaus was known for its hot springs. Perhaps they were seeking some healing after the trauma of the past few days? Where have we found sources of healing in these past few weeks?
 |
| Supper at Yummaus, Barry Motes |
Jesus comes right up alongside them but they don’t recognize him. How might Jesus be right beside us in these times but we don’t perceive him? I know I see it in you when you call each other, bring groceries and meals to those who need it, when you sew masks or sign up for a Facebook account just for the worship videos, when you mow the lawn at church, cook meals and distribute them at the Empowerment Center, when you sign onto Zoom in all your glory, when you struggle to sign onto Zoom. We recognize Jesus in healthcare workers and DoorDash drivers and grocery cashiers and truck drivers and plumbers and journalists and scientists and everyone who continues to work to keep us safe and informed.
But also in the pastor who breaks up a gathering of people sitting on benches on their church lawn, sitting closer than 6 feet and not wearing masks. Or in my colleague who helped a family FaceTime with their dying mother in hospice care. In all the chaplains in hospice and healthcare. In the teachers recording lessons and the teachers live-streaming their lessons; students at their computers, at the dining room table, high school and college seniors. The nurses standing strong in the face of armed protesters. Everyone who has to live apart from their families to keep them safe. In every one of us when we wake up in the morning and meet the day with what we have. In the sick. In the dying. In the grieving.
 |
| Maximino Cerezo Barredo (Spanish, 1932–), Emmaus, 2002 |
Jesus asks these disciples what has happened. If someone asked you not just how are you doing but how are you holding up, how would you answer? What has been on your heart and mind? What’s getting you through? Where do you place your hope? Are you able to make space for someone else to give an honest answer?
These disciples answer as honestly as they can. They speak to their hopes and their confusion. And it sounds like Jesus loses it. He seems rather callous to us, but then as now, there is much at stake. Life and death, liberation, the future of the human race and how we have been shaped by what we have learned.
Though he says the Messiah must suffer, there is nothing in general Jewish thought about this. Though suffering is inevitable, no one must suffer. Jesus’ death was not unique but pervasive throughout the Roman empire. We are not saved by violence but through the power of survival and what we do with our scars, how we cope with our trauma, how we learn to break the cycle of pain through understanding ourselves and each other.
When will we stop going to the store for bread whenever our convenience is threatened and instead ensure everyone has what they need?
When will we stop punishing the poor for being poor and instead teach the rich the meaning of gratitude?
When will we stop being a people who take and instead be a people who are willing to yield?
When will we stop monetizing the value and worth of everyone and everything, period?
When we will stop inflicting harm or using indifference as a means of concealing our weakness and instead have the courage to be vulnerable with each other?
When will we stop normalizing exhaustion and depletion and instead be satisfied with enough?
When will we stop limiting the power of the incarnation to one life, or a few extraordinary lives and instead realize that this power resides in all of us, unrecognized? When will we stop looking to be saved and instead save each other?
 |
| Supper at Emmaus (After Caravaggio), Joe Forkan |
Lebanese poet Kahlil Gibran wrote:
“It is said that before entering the sea
a river trembles with fear.
“She looks back at the path she has traveled,
from the peaks of the mountains,
the long winding road crossing forests and villages.
“And in front of her,
she sees an ocean so vast,
that to enter
there seems nothing more than to disappear forever.
“But there is no other way.
The river cannot go back.
“Nobody can go back.
To go back is impossible in existence.
“The river needs to take the risk
of entering the ocean
because only then will fear disappear,
because that’s where the river will know
it’s not about disappearing into the ocean,
but of becoming the ocean.”
It’s our greatest fear, that we will disappear, we will be forgotten. It’s about becoming, not only for ourselves but for others’ liberation. One human race. Nowhere we’ve ever been before. And we will know the place for the first time.
 |
| Arcadia, New South Wales, Australia by Kathleen Charlotte Berney |
Benediction – enfleshed.com
Though our hearts may be weary,
the Spirit sends us with hope.
There is an opportunity before us to live differently,
to practice radical love,
and to collectively turn from the systems that destroy us and our neighbors.
May the presence and power of Love abide with us,
and keep our hearts burning for justice and truth.
With peace, God sends us to make it so.
Comments
Post a Comment